


morning

by falsenasty



Category: BROCKHAMPTON (Band), Billy Star
Genre: M/M, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 06:00:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15679434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsenasty/pseuds/falsenasty
Summary: in which summer and helmet boy aren’t dead and everything’s okay





	morning

Helmet Boy’s eyes open wide. He stays still, his eyes darting around the foreign room, bed... until he gathers his bearings and recognizes the trophies, the medals, the dark crimson red paint of the old walls lit up by the morning light:  
Summer’s bedroom.  
Despite being in a place he has come to find much comfort and solace in, he begins to panic at the realization that his helmet is not on his head. He grabs at his face and hair, uncomfortable with the unfamiliar exposure. Summer takes a deep breath behind him, his boyfriend’s restlessness stirring him awake. Chest against Helmet Boy’s back, Summer reaches his arm forward and grabs his wrist, bringing it down to rest at his stomach. Summer intertwines their fingers, nestling his face in Helmet Boy’s hair. Helmet Boy shivers at the sensation of Summer’s breath against his scalp.  
“Hey, it’s just me,” Summer mumbles, “We’re safe, it’s okay.”  
Helmet Boy takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, backing himself closer to Summer, if even possible. Kissing the top of Helmet Boy’s head, Summer detaches himself and moves away, reaching down to the floor.  
Helmet Boy takes this time to rub at his face and eyes and head again, trying to settle this discomfort that he had brought on to himself, exposing the entirety of his face to Summer for the first time, last night. The strange feeling had eventually died down and he fell asleep, face hidden in the crook of Summer’s neck. But now, upon waking, he felt just as overwhelmed again.  
However, as if he could read his mind, Summer nudges his back with his helmet.  
“Here, this was on the ground.” Summer offers, smiling fondly when Helmet Boy turns his body immediately, putting the piece in question on his head, holding it there in a state of relief.  
Summer lies back down and holds Helmet Boy to his chest, kissing his head down to his face. Looking up at him, Helmet Boy lifts his head piece, slightly past the tip of his nose to expose his lips. The mouth of the helmet blinds him, mostly, as it comes up over his eyes, but it’s worth it for the feeling of Summer’s lips on his. Summer kisses him so needily, as if he’s been starved for years and years. Helmet Boy runs his hands along Summer’s bare chest, grinning to himself at the tense of Summer’s stomach muscles as his fingers reach his abdomen.  
Sliding his tongue in his mouth, Summer slows his pace ever so slightly. He groans softly, Helmet Boy moving his hand to his cheek.  
Summer moves himself to perch upon Helmet Boy’s hips, grinning at the small whimper elicited from him, due to the loss of contact. Lips glossy from spit, Summer rests for a second, staring down at the boy below him breathlessly. Summer’s erection is very apparent through his boxers, and Helmet Boy feels as if his mouth is going to start watering. Putting his hand down aside Helmet Boy’s waist for support, Summer slowly grinds himself down against Helmet Boy’s dick. He gasps and pulls his helmet back down over his mouth, his hands jetting to grip Summer’s sides harshly.  
Summer laughs, soft and mischievously, watching the way Helmet Boy’s cock twitches in his boxers. Leaning back down, Summer pulls his helmet back up to connect their mouths, and methodically moves his hips to rub their boxer-hidden erections together.  
Helmet Boy isn’t used to having this much attention given to his mouth, even in these past months with Summer. Although, he’s glad Summer respects him enough to move things at his pace. 

Even exposing his face was on his own terms, a decision made just last night during a slow, romantic fuck on Summer’s couch after a winning game.  
How convenient his holy-roller parents be gone for the weekend. How convenient Helmet Boy’s parents didn’t seem to care, regardless the situation. But Summer cares. Summer loves him, and Helmet Boy sometimes can’t fathom how. 

Helmet Boy slides his hand into the front of Summer’s briefs. Gasping, Summer sits up. He tosses his head back, and Helmet Boy admires the way the light of the sun makes his bleach-blonde hair seem to glow. The expanse of his neck and the stretch of his stomach muscles are almost breath-taking, and Helmet Boy wants to taste every part of it. He settles for pulling Summer back down with his free hand, holding his head to his chest, hand in his messy hair. 

Summer shutters as he orgasms, breathing heavily into Helmet Boy’s shirt. He reaches down to jerk him off, ensuring that Helmet Boy doesn’t fall far behind him. He involuntarily cants his hips, fucking into Summer’s hand as he cums. They stay like that, Helmet Boy’s arms wrapped around Summer, who’s right hand still remains down his boxers. Slowly, as Helmet Boy had started to close his eyes, Summer peels himself away, getting up and off the bed to stand and stretch.  
“I haven’t showered since before the game last night, which is actually really fucking gross,” Summer laughs grimly, with his usual gentle mannerisms, “And I don’t plan on sporting cum stains all day.”  
Helmet Boy snorts and looks up at him, lifting his hand to clasp at Summer’s. Taking it joyfully, he continues, “Wanna come with me? To shower, I mean.”  
Helmet Boy sits up and looks at him, eliciting Summers eyebrows to raise.  
Studying his face, he takes a few seconds to consider. He nods slowly, and just like that, Summer exits the bedroom.  
Helmet Boy hesitates, staring at the cracked door, before leaving his helmet on the edge of the bed and following after the other.


End file.
